Tastes Like Summer
by Cowboy Superhero
Summary: Itey came with summer. Now it's winter, he's freezing, and Skittery is worried. Written for spif23. Slash, SkitteryItey/Skitey, 1899' verse.


_A/N: Hello! 2010 is winding down, so I bring a fic in honor of the new year. This is dedicated to spif23, who has written me three one-shots and a chapter in a story, so obviously I am behind as I have only written her a one-shot and a drabble. Here is another one-shot to show my love and appreciation for her - you are amazing, spif dear. Truly fabulous. Your fics leave me in stitches and you keep me from being a complete lurker in this fandom. Much love, have a fic. As for future stories, I did secret slash again this year, so that'll be up as soon as we're allowed. I have a Javid one-shot that's almost finished, and I'm working on the third chapter of Elevator. Things are lookin' good, folks. Happy New Year!_

Late December, 1899. The sky is a brilliant blue and the sun is a golden disc, surrounded by whipped cream clouds. There are no leaves on the trees, but they're beautiful because they glisten with the night's icy rain, which has yet to evaporate in the early morning light. Ice-skaters are flying around the ponds and couples are warming themselves with kisses and shared mugs of cocoa. It's a picture perfect New York.

But it's cold. As hell.

Itey, who had lived in Mexico practically his whole life until he just upped and left for New York one day, had never experienced a Northern winter. He had arrived with summer, and the heat was nothing new and lied to him about the winter to come.

Now, he is freezing. Summer days spent striking and slow fall headlines mean that he can't stay inside and lose a day, even if it means his fingers fall off. He really needs to buy some gloves.

Skittery has lived in New York his whole life though, and he worries. He knows how cold it can get, knows that it is cold and can only get colder because the fist snow, strangely for the time of year, hasn't even fallen yet. And so he worries for Itey, for the boy who looks like summer and smells like summer and sounds and feels and probably tastes like summer, for even summer's sun can't melt a New York winter. He needs to get Itey some gloves.

They stand in Central Park, close but not too close; newsies may have no notion of personal space, but everyone else does, and they need to keep up appearances. When you're selling papers, appearances are everything.

Skittery lifts a paper high into the air and starts to yell out a fabricated headline. Itey sticks his hands in his armpits. He would hawk papers with Skittery, but he has given up. It is cold, too cold. Papers lie on the ground at his feet, and he wills them gone and bought while he breaths on his hands. Cold, so cold.

"Crazy lady murders her husband and ten kids! C'mon, penny a pape! Penny a pape! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, just a penny a pape!" No one is buying, everyone is too busy skating or kissing or trying to get inside to warm up. No one wants a paper. They're either too cold or too content to care about the news. With Christmas right around the corner and air so cold, people are dropping like flies but no one wants to hear it because it ruins their holiday mood.

Skittery sighs as people pass by and ignore him, even though he's yelling headlines that any other time of year would leave him with empty hands and full pockets long before the afternoon edition even made it to the presses. Sometimes, he really hates the holidays.

Itey shivers. Skittery looked at him and then at the papers by his feet then the ones in his hands. He looks at all the people who just aren't buying, then drops his papers on the ground and grabs Itey's hand. "Let's go."

They trudge across the park, cold and ignored just like when they were trying to sell. He has to get Itey inside before the poor boy's fingers turn into icicles and fall off.

"But, the lodging fee..." Itey says slowly, still a little unsure of his English despite being in New York since summer began.

Skittery waves his hand, dismissing the thought. "You weren't selling any papes, Itey, and at this rate you'll freeze to death long before you do. Don't worry, I'll pay for both of us."

"But last night you pay also," Itey points out, his eyebrows furrowing.

Skittery nods and speeds up his pace because the wind has picked up and he's just noticed that Itey is shivering even harder than before, even though they're moving now and not standing around. "I did," he confirms.

"You don't pay again."

Skittery looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "You got any money?"

Itey opens his mouth and then shuts it, looking down at the ground.

"I'm paying again." And with that the matter is closed.

They pass a group of trees, and Itey stops walking. He's exhausted from standing out in the cold all day and because he hasn't eaten anything but unsold newspapers in two days, although he'll never let Skittery know that. He slumps onto a tree and slides onto the frozen ground, hardly able to keep his eyes open.

Skittery looks at him. Itey, his summer boy, slowly succumbing to winter. He's thin, far too thin, and paler than he should be. Winter is eating him alive, and there is nothing that can be done. Skittery has never hated winter more in his life.

He falls to the ground next to Itey and starts to furiously rub the boy's arms, determined to warm him. He tries to get Itey to move but he can't, and Itey refuses to let Skittery carry him. Skittery doesn't know if he picked that up from Crutchy or if he's always been that way.

"A few minutes, just need a few minutes," Itey assures Skittery as he closes his eyes. Skittery doesn't buy it. He's going to freeze and die out here, if not tonight then the next, because there's no way Itey's moving, Skittery can see that already. But he tries anyway, because he knows that losing Itey is not an option.

"Itey, please, you have to get up. We can't stay out here. We have to get inside and warm up."

Itey doesn't answer.

Skittery shakes him. "We have to go, Itey. Get up. C'mon get up. Please, Itey, get up."

Nothing.

He starts to worry, but he sees the rise and fall of his chest and knows that Itey's just unconscious from exhaustion. Not excellent, but better than Itey being dead.

Skittery watches Itey's face as he sleeps and wishes he could watch it more often. Maybe, when he wakes up, he'll ask if Itey wants to share a bunk with him instead of Snitch...

A small dot of white floats down in front of Skittery's face to land on Itey's nose. It's a snowflake, the first of the season. Skittery wishes Itey was awake for his first snow. Against his better judgement, Skittery leans down and kisses the quickly melting snowflake off of Itey's nose. Then he leans down just a little further and kisses Itey's mouth, and now he really wishes Itey were awake.

Next thing he knows there are lips moving against his, and Skittery realizes that Itey has woken up and is kissing him back. And it's still cold as Hell, yes, but if the kiss is warming Itey anything like it's warming him, then they should both be okay for a while. The snow continues to fall, only a few flakes at a time, silent.

They're going to have to stop soon, Skittery knows. They can't afford to be spotted, not to mention that the temperature's dropping and they still need to get inside. But that's only a fleeting thought, because there is only one thing Skittery's mind is really capable of focusing on right now. He was right: Itey does taste like summer.


End file.
